other than his father's hated ex-wife. Her beauty and keen-edged intelligence had always intimidated him, but in the years right after her divorce she'd seemed to become so much more accessible. So skinny, so fragile. She had to be hurting, Donny knew that much for sure. She'd acquired appealing shadows under her eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and loneliness and doubts about life- all things Donny shared. For a short period, he had let himself imagine something about himself and about her. Almost-forgotten longings had blossomed in him and had made him act like a fool.
Julieta had refused to talk to Garrett or allow him on her property, so Donny had served as the company's go-between about the right-of-way crap Garrett had insisted on fighting out with her after the court had partitioned the property. He'd tried to do it righteously, hadn't he? Treating her with respect, showing a willingness to compromise? Asking, not demanding or threatening? She had no idea what it had cost him with Dad, resisting the old man's pressure to up the ante, turn it hostile, even have Nick do some down and dirty.
Yeah, Donny realized with a shock, that was the last time: that period with Julieta. The last time that whole species of feelings had awakened in him. Twelve, thirteen years ago! Sweet Jesus, what a mess of a life.
And that one day he'd been desperate or deluded enough to broach it with her. She'd heard his suggestion- that he had feelings for her, that there might be something to explore between them, and most of all that he was not like Garrett-and what he'd seen in her face wasn't the contempt he'd feared but something far worse: sympathy. She'd put her hand to his cheek and said, 'No, Donny. Look at me-what's left of me. One McCarty was more than enough for this lifetime. Thank you, but no.' A wry and sad grin.
Later, her comparative kindness rankled more than anger or contempt would have. But of course, she was right. Right right right. It had been a stupid impulse on his part, given the situation, given all that had gone down. Under the circumstances, getting together with her would have been something out of a Greek tragedy, what, Oedipus Rex or something. It went against the moral order of the universe. The gods didn't forgive such things.
The thought brought Donny out of his musings. Funny how the distant past could smack you upside the head, catch you when you least expected it.
But in this case, maybe there was a reason his subconscious had dredged all that up. He turned to Nick, who was driving placidly with one big-knuckled hand relaxed over the top of the steering wheel.
'You probably still know the lay of the land pretty well out there, don't you?' he asked. 'Around the school? The mesa there? You could still find your way around if you had to?'
Puzzled, Nick glanced over at him, and then his eyebrows jumped with surprise. ' What-you think this goes that far back?'
Donny shrugged, feeling crappy, injured by life's burdens and impositions, pissed at Garrett, at Julieta, at himself, at everybody. If the audit team gave him any grief today, anything at all, he swore to himself he'd tear somebody's head off.
'Just a thought,' Donny told him. 'I doubt it. But it always pays to be prepared.'
29
They met at the school. It was Joyce's first glimpse of the place, and Edgar had seen it only in the dark. When they got out of their vehicles in front of the infirmary, they both looked around with the cautious curiosity of strangers on new turf. The afternoon was comfortably warm and windless, the desert vast and without sound or movement; to the east, the mesa basked in sunshine.
The school itself was very different. With the students back, the place was alive with energy. Classes were done for the day, and most of the kids were outside. Groups sat under the trellises, skateboarders racketed up and down steps and curbs; a basketball game was in full swing on the court behind the gym, voices calling in Navajo and English. Faculty members strode between buildings, and the main parking lot was full of cars.
Cree felt drained after her session with Tommy. She'd left the hospital before his relatives returned, wanting to let him have an uncomplicated visit with them, and had driven straight back. Though the sparkle of adolescent activity and emotion here felt pleasant and warm, it only deepened the gloomy urgency she was feeling. It took her a moment to understand why: because Tommy should be part of it. Enjoying a warm afternoon outside with his friends. Instead, he was in a hospital room with nothing to do but feel the invader growing in him, infiltrating him, turning him moment by moment into more of a monster. He was becoming like… like one of the twisted, bloated things you used to see suspended in jars of formaldehyde at freak shows. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. It had to end. The kid deserved a life.
And it didn't help that as she was leaving Dr. Corcoran had sketched out the pharmaceutical protocols he was considering if Tommy didn't shape up soon: Thorazine, haloperidol, Risperdal, maybe clozapine. Try the empirical approach, see if his condition responded. The trial-and-error method that so often became just that-a wrenching trial for the patient, a lot of errors. Dr. Corcoran talked as if he planned to have Tommy with him for a long time.
Tommy Keeday was in deep trouble. And Cree Black, Mrs. Ultrasensitive Ghost Buster Queen, or whatever the hell she was, didn't have a clue how to help.
'We need to have a conference right away,' she told them as they came toward her. 'Julieta McCarty is on her way over. I've asked the nurse to join us, too. I want everybody on the same page here.'
Ed gave her an appraising look. Joyce frowned and chided her, 'Well, hello to you, too, Cree. We're glad to see you, too.'
Cree just dipped her chin, took their elbows, and led them up the walk to the infirmary porch.
They convened in the dayroom, taking seats on the couch and chairs that surrounded an oval coffee table. Julieta arrived from the administration building, Lynn came in from her office.
Once Cree had introduced everybody all around, she turned to Julieta.'I've asked Lynn to join us because we need to be able to share information about every detail of Tommy's condition and behavior. Lynn has spent more time with him during his crises than anyone, and she may recall details that didn't strike her as significant at the time but might be crucial for our team. But for her to do that, she'll need to know exactly how we're thinking of the problem. Which means, Julieta, that I need your approval to share information with her. Per our confidentiality agreement.'
Julieta didn't answer right away, but looked thoughtfully first at Lynn and then at Cree. She looked tired, but the effect seemed to make her all the more lovely. Today she wore a gray wool pantsuit with a Navajo necklace that complemented the color of her skin and hair, and she looked older, her beauty derived from her poise and dignity.
'Of course,' Julieta said at last. But she gave a tiny shake of her head, and the message in her eyes was clear: Everything but my secret. Peter Yellowhorse. My baby.
Cree nodded. 'Lynn, you already know how we're thinking of this. I'm sure it strikes you as bizarre. Do you think you can you ride with it despite your skepticism? Give our perspective a chance?'
The nurse was sitting in a soft chair and seemed huddled in on herself, slumped, holding her knees or toying with the end of her braid. Her eyes rose to meet Cree's and the bronze speck sparkled. 'You mean, the idea that Tommy's possessed?'
'As I told you, I don't like the typical assumptions that come with the term, but that's about it, yeah. What do you think of that hypothesis?'
Lynn directed her coy smile at Julieta. 'I just work here. I'll do whatever I'm told. Frankly, having seen him when it's… on him, I don't find the idea such a stretch. Maybe being married into a Navajo family for sixteen years kind of wore down my skepticism. Possession-that's what a Navajo diagnostician would probably call it.' She turned back to Cree. 'As for confidentiality-' She made a lip-zipping gesture.
Cree found she couldn't stay seated. She was too energized, impatient, frustrated. She got up to pace the room as she brought them up to date: 'I saw Tommy at the hospital today. It's getting worse. Joseph kindly talked to them and they let me in as a consultant, so I have access to him. But I have no authority to treat or prescribe. The doctor in charge of his case has a tight psychological theory, but if Tommy doesn't improve he's also considering treating him for seizures, impulse control disorders, schizophrenia. Which means lots of drugs, lots of side effects, personality alteration, long-term hospitalization. I sure hate to see it go there. And I don't think it will
